


Dear Diary

by boltshok



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cutting, Depression, Gen, Poor Blue, dark themes, mentions of cutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltshok/pseuds/boltshok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bluestreak hears voices. They tell him to do things he doesn't want to do...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dear Diary,

 

Why did I live? Why was I saved? My earliest memories are of the war, living very briefly with my older brothers and then growing up with my Mama-- Prowl and Jazz. I must refer to them by their official names in any form of writing.

Prowl saved me that day in the gardens, and my life has been nothing but good. He never says anything, but I know he thinks I am ungrateful. Jazz blames me for taking the spotlight in the relationship between him and Prowl... that they didn’t have children of their own during their prime of life and now they can’t. I never meant to take that spot in their lives.

...

Bluestreak pauses in his writing, shifting in his position on the floor. Crammed up against his berth and the wall, his doorwings were beginning to ache but he was safe. Safe from the voices, safe from the images and people that haunted his mind.

“Why did you live, Bluestreak...?”

 Bluestreak freezes, dropping his doorwings down low. The voice returns in a hushed whisper against his ear.

 “Why, Bluestreak...”

 Bluestreak begins to cry softly, curling in tighter. A monitor on his nightstand crackles softly. “Bluestreak? Blue? Is everything alright?”

 Flinching, Bluestreak curls himself in even tighter, and some of his armor creaks.

 “It’s alright, Blue, everything is going to be okay... someone is coming to help you.”

 “Help,” Bluestreak whispers, the harsh whispering voice over his shoulder laughing darkly.

 “Oh Bluestreak...”

 Bluestreak's door opens and in comes First Aid. He kneels beside Bluestreak, putting a hand on the younger mech’s shoulder. Bluestreak jerks and turns to look up at him, then floods into First Aid's arms, crying. First Aid gathers him up holding Bluestreak close. “I've got you... I'll keep you safe...”

 Bluestreak cries hard, crushing his body against First Aid. The medic settles down on the floor to hold Bluestreak close.

...

Bluestreak creeps out of his room, down to the mess hall. He grabs a cube of energon, and hides in a corner booth, drinking the cube swiftly. His eyes dart back and forth across the room, staring at Mecha as they walk in.

 “-yeah, he's no use-”

 “Wonder when he'll go away-”

 “Should just offline.”

 Bluestreak shrinks down in the booth, voices from around the room closing in on him. Finally, he leaps up and races out, back to his quarters.

...

Dear Diary,

 

It’s the fourth week now. The voices haven't stopped coming, they even come in my sleep. They tell me so many times... to die...

 I don't know if I want to die. If I die... the voices might go away. Why do I live?

 I can't

...

Bluestreak drops his pen, his hands shaking, and he stares down at his wrists.

 “Die, die, die...”

 “You should have died vorns ago...”

 “Die, Bluestreak.”

 His eyes overflow with tears as he stands, dropping the little diary book onto the floor. He steps on it as he turns to his nightstand, opening the drawer. He pulls out a knife, looking down at it. He chokes and cries harder, slipping it into his subspace. he opens the door to his quarters, stepping out and running down the hall. He rushes past First Aid on his way, and the medic watches him run. “...Bluestreak? Blue, it’s okay...!”

 Bluestreak doesn’t listen, running on down to a separate washroom. Shutting the door, he locks it and leans against the sink, staring into the mirror. Choking, he pulls the knife out and presses it against his arm.


	2. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware, there are mentions of cutting plus some blood in this chapter. I upped the rating on the overall fic to reflect this.
> 
> Bluestreak has had enough.

First Aid watches him go, and when Bluestreak shuts the washroom door, First Aid quietly walks up and knocks. “Blue...? Are you okay?”

“Go away,” Bluestreak chokes out, looking down at the small cut on his arm from the knife. “Just go away...”

First Aid tries to open the door, but it is locked. “Bluestreak!” he calls, worry seeping into his voice. “Please, let me in. I want to help you.”

Tears course down Bluestreak’s cheeks as he draws the knife across his arm fully, splitting open a main energon line. Energon pumps out of his arm, gushing out onto the floor before he holds the bleed over the sink.

Frustrated, First Aid hits his comm. line. “Ironhide, I need assistance in the medbay immediately. Hurry.”

Turning back to the door, First Aid continues to work at the lock, but to no avail. The door stands firm. Inside, Bluestreak looks down at the bleeding cut, watching his energon drain into the sink.

“So good, Bluestreak... so good... you know they don’t want you. They don’t like you.. They only pretend...”

Ironhide lumbers into the medbay. “What’s happenin’, ‘Aid?” he asks, the drawl rolling off his tongue smoothly.

“It’s Bluestreak,” First Aid chokes. “Open this door. I think he’s harming inside and I need to get to him.”

Ironhide nods and touches the door. “Blue, Imma open this door if ya don’t come out now.”

Bluestreak grits his denta, hearing Ironhide on the other side of the door. “No,” he whispers, drawing the knife across his other arm. 

Twice the amount of energon pumps into the sink, and still the voices praise him internally. As more energon gushes forth he becomes weaker, and he slips down to sit on the floor as his head begins to swim.

Ironhide growls, taking ahold of the door roughly. “Stand back, ‘Aid.”

First Aid backs up and watches Ironhide tear the door away, revealing a near-unconscious Bluestreak inside. Rushing to his side, First Aid kneels and pulls out his medical kit, bandaging the wounds on Bluestreak’s arms as he calls for bags of energon to start IVs.  
...  
Bluestreak wakes up in a medbay berth, wrapped in a soft blanket. A vase with flowers rests on a side table, and with it are several cards and datapads. Groaning, he rubs his eyes and shifts his doorwings, reaching over and picking up the stack of datapads and cards.

“We miss you, Blue! Get better soon!” reads the first card. It is from Bumblebee.

Images of the little yellow scout come to the front of Bluestreak’s mind as he continues reading through the pile. 

“When you get out of berth we’ll go and have a few drinks!” Smokescreen, obviously.

“Blue! I know you’ve had a tough time of it lately, but remember we’re always here for you.” This card was from the twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker... everything in Bluestreak’s processor tells him that these are all lies, that someone put them up to writing these cards...

At the very bottom of the pile is a very long, unopened, handwritten letter from Prowl and Jazz.

“Bluestreak,

When I found you in the gardens after the bombing, I never planned that you would come to live with me permanently. I brought you with me to the Academy, hoping that you would be taken by some social service group, but when they came to take you, I could not let go. Jazz agreed to help raise you, and you were a deciding factor in our relationship. The time we have been together has been the best in my existence, and I want you to be a part of the our future-”

The letter cuts off abruptly, Prowl’s flowing script ending in a splattering of little dried spots. At the end, Jazz writes, “Blue - the world is not as dark as you think it is. We love you.”


End file.
